


all-consuming, and never satisfied

by chasindsackmead



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Vignette, pre-Adamant Fortress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7440640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasindsackmead/pseuds/chasindsackmead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In your heart shall burn<br/>An unquenchable flame<br/>All-consuming, and never satisfied."<br/>The Chant of Light, Canticle of Threnodies, 5:7</p><p>Hawke meets Cole the night before the Inquisition reaches Adamant Fortress. They talk about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all-consuming, and never satisfied

The desert was cold at night. After the third time he drifted into a doze only to wake up shivering, Hawke gave up on sleep and got dressed, grabbing his staff and heading out of the tent to pace the edges of the camp.  
  
(It wasn't his usual staff. He had left the Hawke's Key behind, pressed it into Anders' hands over all of his protests ( _it was your father's_ , Anders had said, _it was meant for you_ ). He had tried to joke about it, and when that didn't work he had tried to claim that he thought it might attract Corypheus's attention, and if one of them was going to use it, it should be the one who _wasn't_ seeking Corypheus out. In the end, Anders had only looked at him, and he had fallen silent, swallowed, and said "It's the strongest staff we have. I want -- Maker's balls, Anders, I want to protect you! If I can't do it myself, at least let me give you something that can help."  
  
"Oh, love," Anders had said, and the soft, sad look in his eyes had been like a knife in Hawke's heart.  
  
He had taken the staff -- and the lessons in how to use it, because it was a bold, eccentric weapon, designed for Malcolm Hawke's particular brand of magic, and Anders was used to staves with less power and more finesse. He had mastered it quickly enough, with a little help from Justice. "I can see how the flows work better now than I ever could before," he'd said. "Part of me is always in the Fade.")  
  
Hawke stopped a few paces away from where an Inquisition scout was lounging against a rock. "Best to go no further north, ser," she said, "there are varghests."  
  
"Of course there are," said Hawke. "What would a beautiful wilderness be without a host of inexplicably hostile wildlife?"  
  
"It's not inexplicable," said the scout. "We drove them from the springs so we could have water for the keep, and we destroyed some of their nests. I'd be hostile if I was them." She tipped back her hood to scratch her head. "You think it's beautiful?"  
  
Hawke shrugged. "Don't you? Look at that sky!"  
  
She glanced up and smiled. "Lots of stars."  
  
"It never rains here, so the sky is always so clear you can see all of them. Even the dim ones."  
  
"And the stars here are the same as back in Sahrnia. That is a comfort."  
  
"Sahrnia. That's where you're from?"  
  
She nodded. "I only left there a few months ago. Things in Sahrnia were... bad." She went distant for a moment, seeing in her mind's eye whatever had driven her away from her home, then came back to herself with a smile. "But the Inquisition is making things better. Even with the varghests, I'm better off here."  
  
"What is there in Sahrnia that's worse than varghests?"  
  
Her smile faded. "Snow. And Red Templars. Maybe we could have managed one, but both..." She looked back up at the stars. "Maybe someone in Sahrnia is looking at these stars right now."  
  
Hawke gripped his staff tightly. "I shouldn't distract you from your post. Good night, scout."  
  
"Good night, ser."  
  
He took careful steps, waiting until he had found a sheltered spot under an overhang, hidden from view of the camp, before he dug his staff into the sand and slid to the ground.  
  
It didn't always hurt so much, to be away from Anders. Most of the time it was a background hum, easily ignored, like the twinge in his shoulder from the wound the Arishok gave him that had never healed right. It was only sometimes that it struck him like this, a wave of longing that squeezed the breath from his lungs and left him helpless and shaking.  
  
A shadow fell over him, blocking the moonlight. "Cold without him. Ache like a missing limb. Wrapped in thorns, flesh tears no matter how I move."  
  
His head felt heavy. The thought of being seen in this state was wearying, and he had a suspicion that that voice belonged to the one person he least wanted to speak to -- the one person he couldn't possibly deceive.  
  
He looked up. "Varric told me about you. You're Cole, aren't you?"  
  
Cole blinked. It was an oddly deliberate motion, as if he didn't really need to blink, but knew that blinking was something people did, and that it would look strange if he never did it himself. "I remind you of him."  
  
"Him? Do you mean Varric?"  
  
Cole shook his head. "Blue glow, cracks in his skin. Not a good sign. Smells like a lightning storm." Cole lowered his head, so that the brim of his hat obscured his face, then crouched down to be at the same level as Hawke. "He is... Justice?"  
  
Hawke nodded. "Or Vengeance."  
  
Cole considered that, hands twitching. "They can be the same."  
  
"Close relatives, at least." Hawke shifted where he sat, channeling a little mana into his staff to make a light. Cole's face was pale and his eyes were huge and watery. He looked as if he'd been locked in a cupboard and fed on scraps all his life. The Darktown refugees had looked like that. "And you. You're... Compassion?"  
  
Cole blinked again. It looked more natural this time. "I help the hurt. You miss him."  
  
Hawke closed his eyes for longer than a blink. "Yes," he sighed. Hard as it was to say it out loud, it eased something in his chest. If people asked about Anders, they only wanted to know about the revolutionary, the abomination, the mythic figure who set the world on fire for good or ill. They thought they wanted to know what he was really like, but it was the story they were interested in. They didn't care that he loved cats and played the lute badly, that there were strands of his hair that always escaped his ponytail, that he would sometimes work so hard that he forgot to eat.  
  
They didn't care that he was a man, that he loved and was loved.  
  
"When you talk to me, it's better," said Cole. "But worse, too." He frowned. "I don't understand."  
  
Hawke shrugged. "You do remind me of him," he said. "Because you're a spirit, and part of him is a spirit. But you're not him. The only thing that would really make it better would be to talk to him myself, and you can't do that for me."  
  
Cole's face lightened. "But I can!" He drew back, and something changed. His spine straightened and his hands reached out in a spellcasting stance Hawke had seen many times before. "What -- " He pushed the hat back off his head and looked around, staring at the sky. "Where is it? What's going on?" He sounded panicked. "I can't -- _Hawke_? Love, is that you?"  
  
Hawke felt his jaw dropping. "Anders?"  
  
"I was dreaming... But I can't see the Black City. This isn't the Fade, is it? What's going on?"  
  
Hawke rubbed his face. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "It's really you? Maker, I didn't think that was possible!"  
  
"Neither did I. Do you know what's happened?"  
  
"A spirit. A spirit of compassion. He knew I missed you, and he was trying to help. Are you all right?"  
  
He smiled, and it was heartbreakingly strange to see Anders' smile on Cole's face. "Better for talking to you. I miss you too, you know."  
  
"I know. If there had been any way -- "  
  
"It's better this way. I couldn't stand to be turned against you. Not again. What about you? Are you all right?"  
  
"Oh, you know. Someone ripped a hole in the sky and the Grey Wardens are raising an army of demons. So, pretty much a normal Tuesday."  
  
"Hawke."  
  
Hawke sighed. "I know you're going to tell me that it's not my fault -- "  
  
"It's not."  
  
" -- but I can't feel that way. If I'd never gone to the Vimmarks -- "  
  
" -- the cultists would have killed you. Drained your blood and used it to set Corypheus free. All of this would have happened years earlier, and you wouldn't be here to stop it."  
  
"That doesn't make it any easier to live with."  
  
"Love, I do... I do understand. But I can't believe that a world without you is a better world. So... live with it. Make it better. Snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. You're good at that."  
  
Hawke closed his eyes. They were Anders' words, all right, spoken in a different voice, easing aches he'd been living with for so long he'd forgotten what it was like not to feel them. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too. To the end of my days." Anders laughed a faintly embarrassed laugh. "I'd really like to kiss you, but I think that would be crossing a line."  
  
Hawke's eyes shot open and he shuffled back a pace. "Please don't." Anders laughed, and Hawke cracked his neck. "All right, on a scale from one to ten, how alarmed did I look just then?"  
  
"Seventeen," said Anders, still laughing. "Oh, love."  
  
"For some reason, this spirit of compassion looks like an undernourished teenager," said Hawke, scratching his beard. "I think there's a story there. I'll have to get it out of Varric."  
  
"Do that. And tell it to me when you see me again."  
  
Hawke swallowed. "I... Anders, I don't know when that'll be."  
  
"I know." Cole's head dipped down and to the side in an achingly familiar gesture. "I wish I could ask you to promise -- "  
  
"I wish I _could_ promise. It's been -- " Hawke blinked slowly. "It's hard to sleep without you."  
  
Cole looked up, and through his eyes, already blue, Hawke saw a glow of something that might have been Justice peeking through the Fade. "Love, I think I'm waking up. I'd tell you to stay safe, but that'd be like telling a fish not to swim."  
  
Hawke smiled, though there was an ache in his chest. "And I'd tell you to stay out of trouble, but that'd be like telling a bird not to fly."  
  
That smile again. That crooked smile. "Come back to me, love. Finish it, and come back to me, if you can."  
  
"Anders, I -- "  
  
A gasp, and Cole's shoulders dropped. He looked around, picked up his hat, and jammed it firmly on his head. His hands were trembling.  
  
Hawke waited. The air of the desert was bitterly cold -- he was wearing the padding that went under his armour, and that protected him from the worst of it, but Cole's clothes were threadbare, almost ragged. "Cole?"  
  
"Do you feel better?" said Cole.  
  
"I feel -- I feel like I'd _really_ like to know how you did that," said Hawke. "But you probably don't even know yourself, do you? It's just part of what you are."  
  
Cole dipped his hands into the sand at his feet, churning it with his fingers. "You're close in the Fade. You reach for each other."  
  
Hawke nodded. "That... makes more sense than I was expecting. Thank you, Cole."  
  
He shifted, grounding his staff in the sand and preparing to stand, but Cole's voice stopped him. It was small and quiet, barely more than the whisper of distant winds. "Is that what love is?"  
  
Hawke was taken aback by the question. "I suppose so. For us, anyway. I think it's different for everyone."  
  
"It's _hungry_."  
  
Hawke laughed. "Yes. Yes, it is."  
  
"And it _hurts_."  
  
Hawke sobered. "Yes," he said, thinking of the first time he'd met Anders. Even then he'd known it would never be easy. "But it's worth it."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"No, I don't suppose you do. Justice never understood it either. It's..." Hawke frowned as he struggled to put his thoughts in words. He'd had years to think about it, off and on, and he thought he understood it better than he once had. Whether that meant he was right was another matter. "It's part of being mortal. Like our bodies -- they're who we _are_ , not just forms we choose because they serve a purpose. If they hurt, it's bad, but it would be worse if you couldn't hurt at all."  
  
"Like not being real?"  
  
"Yes. It makes everything more real, more -- "     
  
He bit off what he was going to say, suddenly conscious that in a few short minutes, he had revealed more of himself to Cole than to anyone else in the world, except Anders.  
  
"I won't tell anyone," said Cole.  
  
Suddenly Hawke felt ashamed -- not of the feeling, but of the fact that he'd felt the need to hide it. He couldn't explain it, could never have made anyone understand; so he'd made light of it to others, played it down. Joked about it, even, as if there was no way he could truly love Anders as much as he did, as if it had to be some kind of elaborate prank. It felt like that sometimes. He could be stopped in his tracks by the sound of Anders' voice, the sight of his smile. It was so _much_ , it was hard to believe it was really happening -- harder still to make other people believe it. So he had never really tried.  
  
"It wasn't about them," said Cole. "It was too precious. You didn't want to share it."  
  
Hawke nodded, his heart too full for words.  
  
"Justice understands," said Cole.  
  
"No, he -- " Hawke cut off the reflexive denial. He'd always thought Justice didn't understand mortal love -- taken it for granted, really, because it seemed obvious: mortal love was about the particularity of bodies, the concrete _thisness_ of just one person, all things that seemed the opposite of what made a spirit what it was. And yet... had he ever asked? Anders had said something about Justice disapproving, and that had been enough to make him drop the subject. _Let him disapprove, as long as he doesn't stop you_ , he'd thought at the time, and that had been the end of it.  
  
But Cole didn't need to _ask_ to know what Justice was thinking.  
  
"What does Justice understand?" said Hawke.  
  
When Cole spoke, his voice was different, echoing in a way that Hawke had only heard once or twice before. At the sound of it, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he went utterly still, frozen like a rabbit that had spotted a wolf. "All things in the mortal realm sing of what they are and what they have been," said the voice. "A sword sings of the earth where once it rested, a nugget of ore waiting to be smelted and forged." Cole rubbed his hands together, his right thumb and forefinger pinching the ring finger on his left hand. His voice dropped to a whisper, no longer echoing, more like himself. "The body was dead. But it remembered."  
  
Hawke let out a breath, slow and silent. "Bodies always remember," he said. His shoulder twinged, and he thought of a Fereldan refugee who had come to Anders' clinic, complaining about an old wound. He had got it by fighting the Orlesians with King Maric's army, and though more than thirty years had passed, the scar had re-opened and begun to bleed.  
  
"You love your wounds," said Cole, and there was wonder in his voice.  
  
Hawke nodded, and because there was nothing more to say -- no words that would make sense of his feelings to someone who hadn't lived his life -- he sat in silence, gazing at the stars. If Anders was awake, he might be staring at the same stars, at that very moment. He touched the little charm he had brought with him when they had parted: a simir feather from Anders' coat, tied to a leather thong with a strand of Anders' hair. If he had been a spirit like Cole, that strand of hair would have whispered to him of the head it came from, and in that way he would never be alone.  
  
When he looked down, Cole was gone. He felt a strange, heavy kind of peace, and he made his way slowly back to his tent, ready for sleep and whatever the next day brought.

**Author's Note:**

> Short as it is, this was terribly hard to write. It would have been impossible without [RedEris's guide to writing Cole](http://rederiswrites.tumblr.com/post/140831539011/more-thoughts-on-writing-cole-i-think-theres), and DeCarabas's various posts on Fade spirits in general and the Justice/Anders fusion in particular.


End file.
